


I’ll Be Coming for Your Love, Okay?

by verati



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending., Eventual Smut, F/M, It began as fluff, Memory Loss, Post War, Prophecies, Reincarnation, Reunited in the end!, Romance, Sansa POV, Separated Lovers, Temporary Character Death, Then angst came along., Time Travel, jon pov
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-11-08
Packaged: 2019-08-09 23:43:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16459316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verati/pseuds/verati
Summary: A book mysteriously appears on Sansa’s desk in her office. The illustration on the cover portrays a man with grey eyes who looks like he is holding his hand out for a lover, beckoning, his fingers curled and slightly spread apart. A sword on his lap and a direwolf at his side.When she cuts her thumb on one of the pages, and the blood spills onto it, she wakes up underneath a heart tree. And the man from the illustration is there in the flesh, holding his hand out toher.“Sansa. My love.”—•—Sansa works as an editor at a publishing company. The manuscript she takes home that night is not what it seems. It takes her to a different world where another Sansa Stark once lived. It unlocks a tragic story of sacrifice and love. And death. But death is not always the end.Reincarnation AU.





	1. Today’s Another Day to Find You

**Author's Note:**

> I was listening to my playlist on YouTube when Take On Me came on. The song always gets me so hyped up haha. The song is such a banger, honestly.
> 
> The video and lyrics inspired this story. It was meant to be a fluff piece but then the story ran away from me. And so here we are, lol.

“So needless to say...” Sansa turns on the lights of her apartment. She shrugs off her coat, and the bag that’s been digging into her shoulder she lets drop unceremoniously into a heap on the floor. “I’m odds and ends...”

She kicks off her high heels, and revels in the relief. It had been a late night again at the publishing office. If she had known that her love of stories and tales would equate to work days hunched over manuscripts and drafts until her eyes wanted to bleed, she might’ve given her career choice more thought. But she knows herself well enough to know that would not have changed a thing. She loves her work too much to disparage over such trivialities.

“But I’ll be, stumbling away...”

“I’m never going to get that song out of my head am I?” she complains to an empty room.

It hadn’t been so empty two months ago. But finding one’s boyfriend rutting against some purple-haired bimbo while Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer (a classic during the holiday season) plays in the background is as good a reason as any to change one’s housing situation. Or more specifically, the ex-boyfriend’s living situation. Harrold, better known as Harry, never even had the decency to pay rent for the place where he brought every woman he wooed with his blonde locks and classic, “Hi, I’m Harry. What’s your name, [insert any descriptive word suitable for the woman]?”

Better to be alone than to have bad company.

Sansa thinks she read that in a fortune cookie once.

Sansa sighs and grumbles, “Stupid song, stupid radio station, and stupid argh!”She turns back around and grabs her bag from the floor. The flustered Stark remembered she had a manuscript she has to at least skim over before tomorrow. “For someone in my field I am terrible at coming up with better diatribe.”

Sansa doesn’t hate the song. On the contrary, she loves it. But she isn’t in the right frame of mind tonight and the song’s upbeat synth and romance-centric lyrics are at odds with her despondent mood. The ~~stupid~~  ridiculous song keeps playing on loop in her head. And like a Pavlovian idiot she sings and hums along. 

“Slowly learning that life is okay...” She hums along as she opens up her bag to take out the manuscript she has brought home today. She gets comfy on her sectional. It‘s new and the end seats can lean back. It also has cup holders and is way better than the dinghy old couch Harry took when he left.

Among the many bounded pages that were a dime a dozen in her office this novel had caught her attention. If only for the illustration on the front cover. The cover is the original drawing, not a scanned copy. It is hand drawn with blank ink in some sort of style that conveys ancientness. Sansa can feel underneath the pads of her fingers the grooves in the thick paper left by the illustrator’s drawing instrument. Sansa isn’t an artist but she can tell it isn’t but a pen. Perhaps a quill? The paper is also strange. It’s a bit coarse and not paper white. Its thickness makes Sansa want to call it parchment.

“I’ll be gone...in a day or two..” Sansa has given in to her fate and continues to sing softly. With a sigh she folds her feet underneath her. Once she’s comfortable she begins to truly study the cover of the manuscript for the first time.

The illustration consists of a man sitting on the ground, leaning against the trunk of a heart tree. The branches are weblike and form an impressive canopy. Sansa traces the figure of the man. He seems to be wearing some sort of cloak trimmed with fur, a long sword strewn across his lap. One of his arms lays at his side, resting atop the head of a giant wolf-like creature. The creature seems to be sleeping and the artist didn’t fill it in with black ink, using only some lines to define its shape. Sansa muses the artist means for the beast to be white.

Her focus returns to the man. His other arm is slightly outstretched in front of him, the hand reaching not towards the sword but something beyond the picture. He looks like he is holding his hand out for a lover, beckoning, his fingers curled and slightly spread apart. His head is resting against the trunk, with eyes half-lidded but staring straight ahead.

His gaze reminds Sansa of [Las Meninas](https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Las_Meninas) and the way the people painted onto the canvas seem to break the fourth wall and look at the spectator; their eyes of oil and brush strokes recognizing a world beyond the confines of their own painted reality. The man’s eyes have the same effect on Sansa. Although the drawing only makes use of black, Sansa has an inkling that his eyes are grey. Not a light dove grey. But a grey with depth that turns into molten steel in moments of great feeling. _Like passion,_ her mind supplies.

Above his eyes the eyebrows frame his face in a manner that suggests a painful sort of longing. His hair is rendered with curly strokes and the beard is closely trimmed. Sansa fancies that his hair would be soft to the touch. The artist also manages to suggest snow with light, tiny snowflakes fluttering to the ground.

 _The detail in this drawing, this piece of_ art _, is extraordinary. How did the artist manage such minute detail? The snowflakes, his eyes, the creases in his hands... I can even make out the burn scar on his hand._

For once the song has left her alone, her mind having found a much better distraction. A mystery. 

_Why would someone send in an original like this to the publishing office instead of a printed digital copy? It seems too risky. What if it had gotten damaged?_

“Maybe they sent it in by mistake. I won’t complain, though. This is beautiful. Almost lifelike, the artist must have used magic ink,” she jokes to herself. “If I couldn’t touch with my own fingers the indentations made upon the parchment I wouldn’t believe this is hand-drawn.”

Sansa looks for the title. On the back of the parchment she reads: “The Prince that Was Promised”. She hadn’t even opened the manuscript before taking it home tonight. The picture had been enough incentive for Sansa to grab it from the top of her desk before leaving the office. Now that Sansa thought about it, how had this even landed on her desk? She had never seen this work before and no one was allowed to just drop off stuff in her office. Thinking that maybe the author or illustrator name could explain something she looked on the cover and the first couple of pages only to find—nothing. Absolutely nothing.

 _What? This can’t be it._ She flips through the pages quickly with her thumb. _Just the illustration and a novel’s worth of empty pages?_

“Not even a name or-or an email address on a sticky note?” Sansa’s voice takes on a desperate tone. Her heart is beating in an odd time signature. She feels as if an itch in her brain was awoken by the drawing and the empty pages mock her; they deny her answers to the man’s story and the itch intensifies in despair.

Thinking she must have missed something, she thumbs through the pages again. In her haste one of the very thin inner pages of the manuscript slices the skin of her thumb. It soaks up the red quickly, as if with thirst. Sansa is speechless. She watches as the red of her blood seeps into the rest of the pages through what seems to resemble a network of roots and veins.

“What the fuck?!” Sansa drops the manuscript onto the floor and scrambles off the couch. She almost slips, her pantyhose providing no traction on the wood flooring. With morbid fascination she lifts her shaking hand. There is a string of blood stemming from the cut on her thumb, unbroken as it flows to feed the manuscript.

 _I’m hallucinating. This can’t be real. This isn’t happening. Wake up, you idiot._

Sansa feels a pressing in her chest very close to her heart. Possibly _in_ her heart. She was never great with biology. Her vision begins to tunnel in on the drawing. Where once there was only black ink on parchment, red has filled in all the blank space.

“Red and black. Ice and fire.” Sansa falls to her knees. Her lifeblood is still leaving her body.

_I’m losing consciousness and I’m rambling like a lunatic. I’ve lost too much blood. Was this some kind of witchcraft tome? What was it doing on my desk?_

Sansa focuses on the drawing once more. The man is gone and so is the creature. The heart tree’s face has tears of ink falling from its eyes. The ink mixes with her blood. Sansa feels cold. A coldness akin to that of a winter wind’s bite. 

“Fire and blood.” She has no idea what the words she just gasped out mean. She continues to ramble nonsense. “A sacrifice is necessary.”

There it is again, that piercing pain in Sansa’s chest.

Before her head collides with the ground she feels a voice use her lips to speak. It is her voice that she hears but it is a different mind behind the intention. It utters out a name with such hope and love that Sansa’s heart clenches with unadulterated need.

“ _Jon.”_

 

* * *

  

Sansa wakes and the world feels new.

She tries to make sense of her body. She can tell that she is lying flat on a hard surface. Sansa feels heat on her face and she guesses it’s the sun. Her hands tighten and they clutch onto what feels like dewy grass. She can feel the blades poking her legs through her pantyhose. The air feels crisp with the bite of winter but a promise of spring. 

_Spring? It is only February. Where has all the snow gone? And why am I outside?_

She has yet to open her eyes. Sansa is afraid to open them. The pain in her chest is gone but it almost seems like a phantom pain still lingers. Although, she can now feel it slowly ebbing away. The last thing she remembers is watching as her blood filled the pages of the manuscript with red.

And a name. She had said a name.

Jon.

With that name in mind Sansa takes in a breath meant to center herself. 

“Ok. You are going to open your eyes and the world will right itself again. You will be lying on your couch where you probably fell asleep,” she takes in another breath, the smell of pine (and leather?) not helping her conjure up the scene she’s trying to set. “Then you will return that cursed novel to wherever it came from and go back to your normal existence. The lonely apartment, your five-star couch, and eighties classics. Never again will I complain about a catchy song, I prefer it a thousand times to a bloodsucking book.”

Just as that promise leaves her lips she opens her eyes. 

There is no ceiling with artificial lighting to greet her. Instead, a canopy of fire looms above. The red leaves of the tree, for Sansa now notices the white branches, give the impression of being ablaze due to the sunlight. Now that her eyes are open her body moves automatically, her arms pushing her into a sitting position. 

The movement makes her lightheaded and it takes her eyes a few seconds to blink away the blackness that threatened to take her consciousness away again. The effort was for naught. When Sansa opens her eyes again, she faints. 

For there, kneeling at her feet, is the man. The man with eyes she can now confirm as being grey. The man with hair she can now see is a dark, almost ebony, brown. The man who’s hand is reaching for _her_. The man who’s lips let out a sob in the form of a name. 

“ _Sansa. My love._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading :)


	2. I Don’t Know What I’m to Say

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When she wakes it is in a heavy haze of sleep. She hears voices in the room. She pretends to sleep, and listens.
> 
> A voice she instinctively recognizes as Jon’s seems to seethe in anger, “You said she would come back to me. But not like this, _never_ like this.”
> 
> A woman’s voice responds to him, “The lord of light works in mysterious ways. Be grateful she has returned.” Sansa hears a rustling of clothes. “Mayhaps her sacrifice wasn’t enough.”

_He gives me a laugh full of bitter loathing, “Is it so hard to believe she could love me? That I am worthy of a queen’s love?”_

_His words wound me as none have ever. I turn around to face him. I will not bend, kneel, or break. Not to him. And certainly_ never _to his silver queen._

 _“Don’t speak for me,_ cousin _. You mistake me.” I set my shoulders and try to ignore how the fire behind him outlines him in an orange glow. “_ She _is unworthy of_ you _, anyone with eyes can see it.”_

 _I am incensed at the memories of seeing the dragon queen’s hand grip his thigh possesively during the frugal welcome feast. How she treated him like, like a common_ whore. _Always parading the North’s King as a sort of prize._

‘That woman does not love Jon. She sees him as a mere conquest. Another claim to add to her long list of titles.’

_Jon stares at me. The crackle of the fire the only other sound besides our own breathing._

_He is the first to break the silence._

_His eyes turn heavenward. If there weren’t a roof above our heads he would be admiring the night sky. “I’m sorry._ _Guess I still feel like a bastard. Never worthy of a lady’s love.”_

_With shame I remember my lady mother. I long to soothe him, to tell him that he’s wrong._

‘He is worthy of all the love. Just not Daenarys’s. He deserves better than her so-called _love_. But who am I to dictate his heart’s desires?’

_Gently so as not to startle him in his thoughts, I walk over to him and tilt his head back to earth, to me._

_“Bastard or King, or anything in between—you deserve love.” I drop my hand from his jaw. The touch seems too...charged. “If it’s her you love, who are we to judge.”_

_“But I don’t.”_

_I shake my head in frustration, “Yes, you do deserve—“_

_Jon cuts me off. He turns the full force of his eyes on me. The loathing was not outwards. It was, it was all–_

_“I don’t. I don’t love her.”_  

 

* * *

 

 

Sansa feels stifled underneath layers of heat. The scene changes. 

 

 

* * *

 

_Bran’s eyes return from his travels. The milky whites gone, replaced by an unfeeling brown._

_“She knows he doesn’t love her,” he blinks. “You love him, and that will mean your death.”_

_He doesn’t even look at me as his words bring my heart to a stop._

‘What does it matter? He doesn’t feel as I do. The queen has nothing to fear from me.’ _I think to myself._

_“Daenerys will not be the one to kill you.”_

“ _I have no idea what you speak of.” I turn to look out the same window he is faced towards. “Besides, why would my love life be of importance to the Three-Eyed Raven?”_

_He finally turns his head to acknowledge me. But he doesn’t acknowledge my question._

_“Arya will be returning soon from her search. She has been successful. We now have a greater possibility of the Night King’s defeat.”_

_“Thank the gods. It’s been almost a moon’s turn since she left.”_

_Bran looks back out the window. He is able to reply before he goes back to a world where he can walk again. “She doesn’t come alone. The red priestess, Melisandre, accompanies her. No harm must come to her. None.”_  

 

* * *

 

She feels nauseous and her body feels constricted. Sansa doesn’t know if it’s from the dreams or some physical pain. Again, the world in her mind shifts.

 

* * *

 

_“Tell me true, Sansa.”_

_His face is a bit gaunt, but I reckon so is mine and everyone else’s. The fear and uncertainty of what’s to come has its effects._

_I see his reflection in my mirror as he comes to stand behind me. My hand stills midway down the length of my hair._

_“What do you want to know?”_

_Jon takes the brush from my unmoving hand and sets it down on my vanity. He takes a strand of my hair and seems to examine it in the moonlight that streams in from the window._

_His hands are nowhere near my skin yet I shiver in his attention._

‘I need to get out of here before I reveal myself. I cannot ruin his trust by pushing unwanted feelings upon him.’

_He brings the strand of hair to his lips and his eyes bore into my own in the mirror._

_“Does your heart long for me as mine does for you?” His words are soft, and fragile. Like a snowflake moments before it melts._

‘This cannot be. I have fallen into a dream. How cruel are the gods to taunt me with my greatest wish.’

_But my body has not the same apprehensions as my mind. It moves without my knowing and before I am aware I have covered his lips with my own._

_It is sweet, it is deep, it is nothing and everything all at once. Too little, too much._

_“Yes, yes. For you. Only you.” I answer him with a pull of his hair as his teeth and tongue dance against my neck._

_Thoughts of the war and the battles to come dispel any hesitation._

‘I will live and I will love. If we die, I will do so with at least one memory of us to treasure.’

_When he finally pushes into me, words of honey spilling from his lips onto my skin, I understand the beauty of the act. His hips snap against mine but bring no pain, only pleasure. Oh, so much pleasure. Our bodies move in rhythm to our beating hearts. When we peak the song reaches its climax, a mess of passion and noise all our own._

_With a smile on my lips, I fall asleep in Jon’s arms._

 

* * *

Sansa’s head feels like it is being split open from the inside. She feels claustrophobic. Her mental walls close in more and more. One last time, the images change.

* * *

 

_“You have my heart.” The cold is unbearable and the sounds of battle are not far but I must tell him at least once more. I take Jon’s unwilling hands in mine._

_I drive them towards my breast. A red flower blooms around a glint of metal._

_“Until we meet again, my love.” My final goodbye dies among his cry of pain._

_The world turns into nothing._

_And then, there is light._

 

* * *

 

When Sansa wakes she finds herself in a fire lit room. The walls are made of stone, there are sturdy but feminine looking furniture pieces, and a vanity with a mirror. The vanity reminds Sansa of the weird dreams she had while she was unconscious. Blearily she removes her arms from underneath a pile of blankets and furs. When she rubs her face to try and chase away the last vestiges of sleep her hands come away wet. She had been crying.

Suddenly, from the side of the bed, a white beast, like the one from the drawing, raises its head and walks through a door to her left. She hadn’t even noticed its presence, the animal was so quiet.

_Where am I? Where’s the man from the drawing?_

_Jon. His name is Jon if my dreams are anything to go by._

_And why were Bran and Arya in those dreams? Bran wasn’t my Bran, that much is clear. This is all so weird._

She examines her surroundings and feels like the walls are closing in on her. It is all too familiar. But the familiarity scares her. Why does she feel like she knows this place so well? 

One of her questions is answered when ‘Jon’ walks into the room through the same door holding a silver tray with a bowl and cup on top. The smell of food reaches her before he does.

He looks happy but concerned as he sits down in a chair next to her bed. He places the tray atop of a little table. He leans towards Sansa and brushes sweat dampened hair away from her face. The featherlight touch makes Sansa shiver. 

“How do you feel? You fainted, my love. I can’t believe you’ve come back to me, Sansa.” He sighs out her name and Sansa’s heart seems to let out a sigh of its own.

“It’s been a year since...” his face crumbles in pain. “The gods seem to have shown us some mercy after all. When Ghost dragged me into the Godswood to the place where we held each other last, I couldn’t believe my eyes. There you were, laying on the grass in some strange garments looking like a forest nymph. My heart, my Sansa.”

His pain, this stranger’s pain, affects Sansa too deeply for her to ignore. But she has to be honest with him. 

“I-I’m sorry but I don’t know who you are or where I am. I had some dreams but,” he freezes in his seat. “I don’t understand what they mean.”

Abruptly he stands and leaves the room. Sansa’s brain must have been overloaded by his presence because she falls asleep once more.

 

* * *

  

When she wakes it is in a heavy haze. She hears voices in the room. She pretends to sleep, and listens. 

A voice she instinctively recognizes as Jon’s seems to seethe in anger, “You said she would come back to me. But not like this, _never_ like this.”

A woman’s voice responds to him, “The lord of light works in mysterious ways. Be grateful she has returned.” Sansa hears a rustling of clothes. “His power still radiates from both her and the book, I can feel it. It worked. Mayhaps her sacrifice wasn’t enough.”

There’s movement, something crashes to the floor, and the woman gasps. Jon’s voice is low and threatening. Sansa strains to hear. “Not enough? She gave her _life_ to end the war! As I held her, her blood seeping to the ground you gave me hope. Told me you could save her and bring her back to me. Your lord of light took her body away from this realm and left me nothing to mourn or to bury in the crypts. A simple book made from weirwood and blood, all that was left of my queen. You dare me to be grateful?  You _lied_.”

Scrambling steps follow his accusation and Sansa hears a door close. She opens her eyes thinking she is alone and they have left. She is wrong. Jon’s forehead is against the wall, his hand clenched in a fist and resting next to his head. 

As if he can feel her eyes upon his back, he turns on his heel and looks at her with red-rimmed eyes before she can burrow back underneath the covers. She studies him quickly. He is wearing some _very_ old-fashioned looking clothes. His eyes seem to penetrate her very being. And her body sings to be closer to his. Yes, it is the same Jon from her dreams. The same man from the illustration.

“I’m sorry if we woke you, my lady,” he runs a hand through his curly locks. “I’ll leave you to rest.”

He makes to leave but Sansa doesn’t want him to. 

Her voice is dry but she speaks all the same, “Jon.”

He stops, “You know my name?”

“Yes,” Sansa licks her lips to moisten them. “I saw you in dreams. Do you think I was...were we...were we lovers?”

He is yet to turn around and Sansa sees his back tense, “No, we were more. So much more. I was yours and you were mine.”

He leaves the room and Sansa sheds unbidden tears for a life she seems to remember only in the dark. She succumbs once more to the world of dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was a lot of flashbacks and memories, but it was necessary to flesh out the story. Sansa will finally get out of bed in the next chapter!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	3. I’ll Say It Anyway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Yes, I do need something. And yes, I’m lost. I need answers. Now.” she remembers her manners; after all, Catelyn Stark _is_ her mother. “Please.”
> 
> His lips quirk, just a bit, before he gives her a nod. He starts walking and, when he sees that Sansa remains still, he gestures with his arm for her to follow him. 

Indoor plumbing is something that Sansa never thought about. But when confronted with a full bladder and no toilet in sight, a chamberpot had to do. The maid that had been bringing in her meal had giggled away when Sansa had asked her how to use it. 

It was embarrassing, to say the least. 

Sansa looks at herself in a long mirror as the maid, who introduced herself as Leda, helps her dress. Sansa recognizes herself, yes. But she looks younger, not her twenty-six year old self. If she had to guess she looks like she did when she was around nineteen or twenty. As Sansa is being wrangled into some sort of bodice, her thoughts wander to a more pressing concern. 

It’s her second day in this world and Sansa is no closer to figuring out how she has come to be here. Even more worrying are the moments when her body doesn’t seem to be under her own command. This morning she woke up to find herself standing and halfway dressed. She was wearing some form of long underwear and stockings. Her pantyhose, work clothes, thong and bra included, were discarded haphazardly on the floor. A thick, high-neck dress was pooled at her feet, as if she had dropped it midway through dressing herself. 

That was how Lena had found her, standing half-naked, confused, and with a bladder ready to burst.

“M’lady,” Lena finishes dressing her. “I am new to the keep. Is it true what they say about you? That m’lady ‘as come back from the dead?”

Sansa’s head pounds. “What do you mean? Like, am I a zombie?”

Leda tilts her head in confusion, “Pardon, m’lady, but what's a ‘zombie’?”

Sansa gives her a strained laugh. A laugh bordering on hysterical. “Never mind, thanks for helping me. I feel like a little girl but I didn’t know how to put this difficult dress on.”

The teenager gives her a bemused smile and bobs in what Sansa presumes is a curtsy, “It’s ma job m’lady. And highborn ladies always need help dressin’, 'cause of all the buttons and lacing.” 

Leda leaves and Sansa eats the meal in the room, alone. 

 

* * *

 

Sansa hasn’t left the bedroom since she woke up the first day and she is itching to explore, to find Jon, and maybe get some answers. Because the longer she remains here, the more certain she is that this isn’t a dream. 

The first people she meets in the hallway don’t pay her any attention. It isn’t until she turns the corner and bumps into an old woman in servant-like clothes that she remembers Lena’s question. She might as well be a zombie if the old lady‘s reaction is anything to go by. She turns pale as a sheet and flattens herself against the stone wall. Sansa doesn’t realize it’s her own presence that has the woman so bewildered. She stops to ask her if she’s okay. 

“Are you alright?”

The woman shrinks further away and looks at her with horror, “You was dead. All of the North mourned yer death. Get away, evil spirit!”

Sansa is now the one who shrinks away, the woman’s words painful in a way they shouldn’t be. Sansa has never died. She is alive and kicking, thank you very much. 

**_“No, I_ _ did _ _die. And I did so willingly, to give my love a chance to save the North—to save his life.”_**

There it is again, that voice from her apartment, the same voice that then guided her dreams. It is similar to hers. But it has a different cadence with words and it sounds wiser, richer in experiences, than Sansa. Sansa stumbles away from the old woman and walks with no direction in mind. The only thing she knows is that she needs to find Jon. 

 

* * *

 

Jon is the one that finds her as she wanders the never ending halls and towers. He looks tired, dark stains underneath his eyes. He wears a black cloak that goes down to his feet. It is lined with an animal’s pelt, and wolves decorate the straps. It looks a bit worse for wear, but nothing a quick session with a needle and thread wouldn’t fix. Sansa’s fingers twitch at the thought.

Everything he wears is black. Everything  except for a spot of grey that blinks at Sansa before it’s covered by the darkness of his cloak. 

“My lo–” Jon clears his throat. “My lady, do you need anything? Are you lost?”

She notices how his hand almost reached out for hers before he brought it back to his side. The action saddens her. 

_No, there’s no reason for you to be sad. You don’t know this man. You just need answers._

“Yes, I do need something. And yes, I’m lost. I need answers. Now,” she remembers her manners; after all, Catelyn Stark _is_ her mother. “Please.”

His lips quirk, just a bit, before he gives her a nod. He starts walking and, when he sees that Sansa remains still, he gestures with his arm for her to follow him. 

Without her bidding, Sansa’s arm winds itself around his as if it has done this before. Jon’s mouth opens in surprise and Sansa quickly takes her arm away. Again, her body acted without her consent. And what worries her is that she wants to do it again. The feel of his arm against hers felt like the most natural thing in the world.

“I, I’m sorry,” she clasps her hands behind her back as if that would stop them from seeking out his touch. “I seem to have forgotten myself. Lead the way.”

**_“Yes, you_ _ have _ _forgotten yourself. You have forgotten our first life. You have forgotten me, the core of your very being. I, Sansa Stark, the Red Wolf of Winterfell, the Queen of Winter. . ._**

**_"But you can never forget your love for him. Never that._ **

**_"For I am his and he is mine.”_ **

Sansa steals a glance at the quiet man walking slightly in front of her. Those words again. Jon had said them yesterday, too. They sound like marriage vows. Yet, so much stronger than a simple, “I do”.

_If I had met him back home, could I have loved him? I think I would remember meeting someone like him. He doesn’t seem like someone I could easily forget._

**_"I will make you remember. You will always know him._ ** **_This is not a dream and neither were those visions. They were real. This is real.”_ **

The voice leaves her alone and she continues their walk in silence.

 

* * *

 

He shows her into a sparsely decorated room. It looks like a study or an office. The largest piece of furniture a simple oak desk.

There’s a redhead standing in front of a brazier on the right side of the room. She isn’t simply looking into the fire absentmindedly. She _watches_  the flames, her eyes absorbing the light. Her dress is also a dark red like her hair but, aside from that, rather plain. The only jewelry she wears is a necklace that shimmers vermillion in the fire’s glow. 

“The Lord of Light has returned you. Yet you are not completely here. You are fractured, my lady.”

Sansa feels ill at ease. There is something about the woman that makes her want to leave the room and never turn back, answers be damned. Jon’s presence is the only thing that keeps her from running. Sansa doesn’t want to examine what that means. Not right now.

Jon sits in a chair and bids Sansa to do the same. He flicks his eyes towards the strange woman that spoke, “She’s Melisandre. She knows and has more answers than I can offer. She and her god were the ones that saw your body last.”

The witchy woman, for that is the kind of vibe she is giving off, speaks without tearing her eyes away from the fire.

“The Lord of Light has shown me your other life. Such a strange world you were in. And yet, it is a reincarnation of our own. You were some sort of maester or scribe, in that life, were you not? Perhaps that’s why the Lord’s gift took the form of a book.”

Jon lets out a growl, “Speak clearly, _priestess_ ,” he spits out the title. “After a year of your silence my patience runs thin. Tell us, tell _her_ , what happened.”

For a split second Sansa swears the beauty and youth of Melisandre flickers away in the light of the fire to reveal an old withered woman. She turns around, “You sacrificed yourself, my lady, and the Lord of Light rewarded you. After the ritual was complete your mortal body disappeared and a book was left in its stead underneath the heart tree. That book, wrought from your blood and the tree, seems to be the tether to your soul’s first life.”

“What ritual? First life? How can a book—what are you _talking_ about?”

“If you want more answers look for them in the fire. If the Lord of Light wills it, the answers you seek will be there.”

“ _What?_ ” Sansa’s voice turns shrill in anger. The frail hold she has on her sanity finally snaps.

All at once the severity of her situation presses down on her.

She was ripped from her normal life and woke up in a world that reads like something out of a fairytale or a legend. There is a man that looks at her with a love in his eyes that Sansa can’t remember but inexplicably knows to be true. People stare in awe and mutter under their breath, “The Lady of Winterfell. She’s alive.”

It’s all  _too_ _much_.

Too much change, too many voices, too much light.

Sansa gasps for breath. Her neck prickles with sweat, her hands feel clammy, and her shoulders begin to stiffen. The light from the fire hurts her eyes.

_Is this what a panic attack feels like? Or am I dying?_

“I feel like I’m going crazy. I’m hearing voices, I woke up to a face younger than the one I remember, I’m losing control of my body,” her voice wheezes out of her windpipe, “I have dreams of a life you say I lived but that I have no memory of. You tell me that–that some _light_   _god_  saved me from death? And you want me to just  _stare into a fire_ for answers?” Sansa heaves in a breath as she throws the woman a look of disgust. “Is this some sick joke to you?” 

“I’m no jester, I am a mere servant of the Lord of Light.”

Sansa dimly hears a chair scrape against the floor. She feels a warm hand, Jon’s hand, as it rubs soothing lines across her back. Sansa’s breathing is slow to return to normal. The restricting undergarments she is wearing push against her ribcage. She straightens in her chair and casts Jon a thankful grimace. He draws his hand away. 

Unused to the length of the dress, and mentally exhausted, she almost trips as she stands but she is quick to right herself. The red woman’s eyebrow lifts in amusement. 

 _That_ bitch _. She thinks this is funny. This is my_ life _, not her chance to try out a new magic trick._

 ** _“I know, she is a bitch. I never worked with her unless I had to, but what other option is left? Mayhaps her god can fix this ‘fracture’ and show you my, your,”_** the voice huffs in annoyance _._ ** _“_ _Our_ _memories_ _.”_**

For once the voice and Sansa seem to agree.

“Fine. Show me, then. Show me what answers your silly flames hold.” Sansa moves to stand to the right of the detestable hag.

Jon comes to look into the brazier as well, “When you died I didn’t—I just need to know.”

He stands on Sansa’s right with a question on his somber face. Slowly he takes her hand in his, watching her for any indication that his touch is unwanted. She gladly accepts his hand in her own. It makes her feel brave and less alone. Sansa is never so glad for him, for this kind stranger, as she is in this moment.

She leans into the brazier, as close as she can without burning her eyelashes off.

_I’ll humor this wannabe witch. But once I show her this doesn’t work I’ll get my answers. One way or another, I will._

The heat is there but it isn’t burning. Instead it seems to pull her in, until she is no longer in the room. She finds herself in a swirl of visions.

This is no magic trick.

At her side, and still holding her hand, stands Jon looking as surprised as she is. His body, and hers, is blurry and transluscent. Their pseudo corporeal forms can do nothing but watch. They hold no power; here, the ink is already dry.

**_“It seems that we were wrong, other-me. There_ _are_ _answers in the priestess’ flames."_**

Her voice gains strength.

**_”My story is your answer.”_ **

What the flames tell them is not a joke.

No, it is the most tragic story the world has ever told. Romeo and Juliet would weep at the visions that unfold before Sansa’s smoke-glazed eyes.

**_“It is a tale you have tried to pretend doesn’t exist. Face it, for the sake of both my present and our futures.”_ **

None of the stories she has read could hold a candle to what she observes in the fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve been mulling over the idea of introducing a Jon POV for a portion of the next chapter. Or should I keep it all in Sansa’s? Thoughts?
> 
> Next chapter: We’ll see what the flames show Sansa and Jon. 
> 
> Thanks for reading and all the wonderful comments!


	4. Shying Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"There are things not even your Three-Eyed Raven can see, my lady," the witch relishes the, small, reaction her words bring to Sansa's face. "He is afraid of being touched by the Night King again. No, he will not see what the Lord of Light has shown me."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End note is very important!
> 
> Also:
> 
> There will be a lot of italicized text broken up by regular text.
> 
> The regular text sections are not memories, they’re interactions happening b/w Jon and Sansa as they watch scenes from the past. If there is italicized dialogue in these interactions they are modern Sansa’s inner thoughts.
> 
> And! Jon will sometimes switch between talking to modern Sansa as if she were his Sansa. Like saying “you” instead of “she” when referring to something they see old-Sansa do in the visions. Sometimes he corrects himself, sometimes he doesn’t. It might be confusing but the entire situation is confusing for Jon and his confusion will reflect in his interactions with Sansa.

* * *

 

 

Sansa is highly aware of Jon’s hand when the first vision appears. But she doesn’t let go. She can’t. He is the only anchor she has right now. 

 

 

 

_Jon idly traces Sansa’s spine as she lays on her stomach. There is a look of contentment on her face as she regards him._

_“You‘re staring again.”_

_Sansa shifts to her side. She is naked underneath the furs but, then again, so is he._

_She gently pulls on one of his lank curls and watches as it springs back in place, “Tormund was right. You do have an uncharacteristically pretty face.”_

_She crawls up to straddle him, and his hands cup her arse._  

 

 

Sansa feels like a voyeur, but she is unable to look away. Vision-Sansa loves  Jon. It’s clear in her touch, in the way her eyes drink him in. For a moment Sansa feels a spark of recognition, but it is gone before she can grasp it fully.  

There must be something important about this. She continues to watch.

 

 

_Jon’s hips rock forward as Sansa guides himself into her._

_“Bloody hell, Sansa,” his hands travel to her puckered nipples, teasing and pinching. “If I believed in the Seven I’d  call you the Maiden made anew.”_

_Sansa’s laugh is breathless as she leans down to give him a kiss, “Would you, now?”_

_“Mmm, I would. Although,” Jon grips her circling waist and flips them over. He cages her against the bed with his arms, their bodies still connected. “I think I know of something that sounds much better."_

_Sansa's hands are gripping Jon's shoulders as he picks up the pace of his hips._

_"What...oh...could be better?"_

 

 

Jon’s hand clenches Sansa’s. 

 

 

_"Wife. I would call you my wife, Sansa."_

_The frantic pace they had set slows until they are unmoving._

_"You-we, we can't Jon. I want to, gods how I want to, but if—"_  

 

 

Sansa can't see vision-Sansa's face but she could hear the despair in her words. 

 

 

_"Forget about the game, forget about everything and everyone else. But don't forget that there will be a time after the war. There will be peace. And I can't imagine sharing that peace with anyone but you." Jon is pleading as he lowers his body flush against hers. "I love you. I love you and I never want to let you go, Sansa."_

_Sansa's arms wind themselves around his neck. Her knuckles are white with force as she clings to him._

_"I had forgotten what bliss felt like. With you I feel it again, Jon. And I will not incite the dragon queen's ire at the risk of your life. Everyone yet thinks us  brother and sister. If she finds out—"_

_"She won't. We'll wed in secret, at the heart tree, with only the gods as our witness. I need only you, dear heart. Only you."_

_Sansa's cries are angry, muffled by Jon's neck, "Madness, this is madness. What did we do to deserve this, Jon? Have we been cursed by the gods?"_

_Her angry cries end. She breathes in before she starts to speak with a simmering heat,_ _"But I'm greedy. And now that I have you...the idea of sharing you with another...of you not being mine in every way..."_

_Sansa resumes their lovemaking with a feverous passion and she digs her hands into Jon's scalp. "It drives me_ _mad_ _. You're right. I am yours and you are mine. Make me yours, Jon. Make me your wife."_

 

 

"We gave our vows two days after, under the cover of night. You were beautiful, the most beautiful thing I had ever seen."

Sansa finally turns to Jon, his slip of the tongue going uncorrected. She thinks it would be uncaring to correct him when he looks so at peace, watching a pleasant memory. Jon’s eyes remain fixed on the slowly disappearing vision of the two lovers. His feet shift like he wants to chase after it, afraid of never seeing it again. 

Sansa fears losing him in this smoky haze, she squeezes his hand and asks him, "Did anyone know that you married? Did this ‘dragon’ queen find out?"

Sansa can see that he had forgotten that she was there. That she was not his Sansa. He sometimes addresses her as if she’s his lost wife but Sansa doesn’t call him out on it. The entire situation is strange enough as it is; she can’t deny that his Sansa looks just like her. That they even share the same name. 

He gives her a melancholic twist of lips, "No. Bran might have seen it. But he never mentioned it and we never asked."

He turns away from her and looks ahead, waiting for the next vision to appear.

_She must have loved him a lot to marry him in spite of all the danger. Then again, love makes fools out of all of us,_ she thinks.

The two lovers are gone. The vision is replaced by another. The warmth and joy is also gone. This new scene is blue and cold.

 

  

_Sansa looks haggard. Her hair is hastily tied off at the nape of her neck, and her skirts are rumpled. The cloak she wears has several tears at the hem and it obviously offers not enough protection against the cold. No fire is lit in the room. She is sitting behind a desk, her quill scratching away on a ledger. There's a knock on the door followed by Brienne's voice._

_"My lady, the priestess Melisandre wishes to speak with you."_

_Sansa stops writing and composes her appearance before she tells Brienne to let her in._

 

 

It surprises Sansa how her double's face quickly transforms. It's as if she slides a mask into place, all evidence of her fatigue and worry gone. 

 

 

_"My lady," the woman in red shows no signs of hardship, her hair gleams in a room where no sunlight travels through the window. "I have news. The Lord of Light has shown me the dangers we shall face in Winterfell in less than a sennight."_

_Sansa leans back in her chair, and watches the woman before her with a cool indifference._

_"My raven brings no such tidings. Our forces left only two days and one night ago. Any danger you speak of will be faced on a battlefield much further North, not here in Winterfell. If there is nothing else, I must ask you to leave. I have preparations to finish."_

_Melisandre ignores the dismissal and instead walks further into the room. Sansa ignores her and continues to work._

_"There are things not even your Three-Eyed Raven can see, my lady," the witch relishes the,_ _small, reaction her words bring to Sansa's face. "He is afraid of being touched by the Night King again. No, he will not see what the Lord of Light has shown me."_

_Sansa has stopped writing._

_"The men will be ambushed tonight by a small force of wights. In two days time the forces of the living will be pushed back to the outskirts of Winterfell and the Wolfswood.”_

_Sansa casts her an incredulous look, “How am I to know you speak no falsities?”_

_Melisandre stands in front of the desk. “Just as you believe everything your Raven tells you.”_

_Sansa studies Melisandre carefully before she asks her, “If this is true, why did you not tell me sooner so we might warn the men? A raven sent now would arrive too late or not at all.”_

 

 

Jon curses. "Melisandre knew. She knew and she didn't warn us."

"So many men, good men, died at that ambush. Only to rise again against their very own brothers-in-arms. The dragons couldn’t be used, they would have burned the living as well. This woman is no priestess. She is death."

The mention of dragons strikes disbelief into Sansa. But in a world where gods show visions in fires, giant wolves roam castles, and zombies seem to have risen...Sansa pushes it all aside for fear she might have a nervous breakdown. She’ll focus only on her vision-self.

"You didn't know about this meeting?"

"No. Sansa didn’t...she didn’t have time to tell me about this, about the red woman’s vision.”

_His Sansa must have died before being able to tell him about what happened here._

They continue to watch.

 

 

_"I do only as my Lord commands me. You, too, shall be his servant.”_

_“I am not a feeble minded fool you can convert to your cult,” Sansa stands and is of a height with the red woman. “You forget yourself and who you are addressing so freely. You are speaking to the Lady of Winterfell and—“_

_Melisandre speaks over her._

_“And Jon Snow’s queen. You are his wife and he has king’s blood. He loves you, your grace, and your love will be what saves Jon Snow and the realm of the living.”_

_“I am unwed, and so is my brother. You forget that we are brother and sister. We would never marry and your accusation is vile.”_  

_Melisandre’s laugh is low and teasing, “Nothing can hide in the light, my queen. Even less a dragon in wolf’s clothing.”_

_The red woman takes Sansa’s silence as confirmation and continues, “The ambush is necessary. Without it there is no way Jon Snow would allow the fighting to come so close to his home. To you.”_

 

 

“What does she mean?”

“The ambush forced us to fall back. We couldn’t move forward. If I had forced my men to stand their ground we would all have fallen. The Night King played a cruel game with us after the first ambush. He allowed us enough time to recover, only to push us back even further which each attack,” Jon doesn’t hold back the bite of his anger. “I can’t believe Melisandre knew we married. And that she never mentioned any of-of _this_ to me since the end of the war.”

 

 

_“You must be underneath the protection of the heart tree when the battle comes. Loathe as I am to admit, there is power there from your northern gods. Jon Snow will meet you, too afraid of being unable to protect you.” Melisandre speaks as if she is chanting a spell, trying to seduce Sansa with the scene her words paint. “And when he comes, you have to give your heart to him. If you want him to live, if you want Winterfell, your family, to survive, Jon Snow must plunge his sword through your heart.” The mask slips from Sansa’s face at the horror of the woman’s words. “Your sacrifice will invoke Lightbringer—the only weapon able to bring the Night King to a final death.”_

 

 

The words the woman speaks stir something within Sansa. She watches as her vision-self walks around the desk to confront the witch.

Again, Jon Snow curses the red woman. “She’s the reason why you—why Sansa died. Sansa told me it was Bran’s idea, that he saw it in a vision. She lied, it wasn’t him; it was this priestess and the demon she worships who took everything away from me.”

_Bran? So this world’s Bran is some kind of psychic? But why would vision-Sansa lie to Jon about Bran’s involvement?_

She starts to ask Jon to explain but the voice of her doppelgänger drags her attention away. 

 

 

_“Now I know you spew only lies. Lightbringer? That is an old wives tale, a mere legend. You expect me to die at the hands of Jon for a sword that doesn’t exist? We know about your sacrifices in the North. How you burn little girls for a blood hungry god. The only reason your head is still attached to your neck is Bran’s decree that no harm come to you. Yet.” Sansa’s hands are hidden, clasped behind her back, but they shake with anger._

_Melisandre ignores the accusation of the girl’s murder. But its mention has changed her tone. The sweetness that coated her words is gone._

_“Just as the wights were only a legend? Open your eyes, we are surrounded by legends come to life. Lightbringer is not a singular sword, you foolish girl.” Melisandre’s feigned demureness is gone. All masks have been taken off. “It is a blessing given by the Lord of Light. And a sacrifice such as yours...that is the only thing worthy of such a gift. Your sacrifice will reforge your husband’s sword as Lightbringer and save the realms of gods and men.”_

_“Get out.”_

_“You will see the light, Sansa Stark. When the moment comes you will know that there is truth in the flames.”_

_“I said. Get. Out.”_

_“Don’t fear, your grace. The night is dark and full of terrors but death is not one of them,”_ _she pauses at the door. “And death is not as final as it seems.” With that parting remark, Melisandre leaves._

_Once she is gone and the door has closed, Sansa collapses into a chair and stares at the empty hearth._

 

 

Before Sansa can ask Jon about what they just saw, about Bran, about Lightbringer, about _everything_ , the scene changes once more. It’s the day of the battle. The last stand against the dead. The day Jon’s Sansa Stark died.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry but I had to cut this chapter in two! The second half is told from Jon’s POV and...well, it got long. Extremely so. It was pushing 6K (!!!) so I have to edit it a bit before it’s ready to post. Also, the book’s role in all of this won’t be revealed until probably the last chapter (just in case anyone was wondering).
> 
> Aaand, I keep adding chapters to this thing. This is not what I had in mind at the beginning of this fic. Especially with Jon’s POV; he has a lot of feelings, okay? If it all goes as planned this will definitely end at six chapters!
> 
> —•—
> 
> Here’s a little preview of the next chapter: 
> 
> The woman standing next to him has the body but not the mind of his wife. But it has to be her.
> 
>  _It has to. I can’t think the gods cruel enough to bring her here just to torment me._ He feels it in his bones, in his blood, in his heart. _She just needs to remember._
> 
> To have her within reach but not be able to hold her—it is inhumane. His muscles ache from holding himself back. Away from her. 
> 
>  
> 
> _But when have any gods shown us mercy?_
> 
>  
> 
> —•—
> 
> Thanks again for reading and sorry about the delayed Jon POV.
> 
>  
> 
> [long end note is finally over]


	5. I’ll Be Gone (in a day or two)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He presses his nose against her neck. “What keeps you away from me? Is it the darkness, my love?” he asks her tenderly. He cries like he did when he plunged his sword through her heart. Watching the memories has made him feel that pain once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a hard one to write (and a pain to edit down). Get ready for emotional!Jon.

Jon is in agony. The wound that has been festering since Sansa’s death burns fresh. There she stands, next to him, watching memories of her life with no recognition in her eyes.

No recognition when she looks at _him_. 

The woman standing next to him has the body but not the mind of his wife. But it has to be her.

 _It has to. I can’t think the gods cruel enough to bring her here just to torment me._ He feels it in his bones, in his blood, in his heart. _She just needs to remember._

To have her within reach but not be able to hold her—it is inhumane. His muscles ache from holding himself back. Away from her. 

Now he must watch her die in his arms. He must relive how he kills the woman who brought him out of the darkness and into the light. _How the gods make us dance for their entertainment,_ he thinks bitterly.

Jon might be hurting Sansa but he tightens his hold on her hand. She says nothing and holds on just as tightly. 

 

 

_“Stay here and guard Bran,” Sansa commands her dear friend. “He is vulnerable in this state. If he is cut off from warging into the ice dragon there is no hope left for the men.”_

_Brienne nods, she unsheathes Oathkeeper. “I shall protect him with my life if need be, my lady.”_

_Sansa hesitates before she rushes over to the lady knight and gives her a short hug. A goodbye between friends._

_“I know you will, Brienne. You are a true knight.” Sansa breaks away and starts towards the door._

_“My lady, Sansa, where are you going? You must stay here, the battle is not long in coming to Winterfell!”_

_“I’m sorry, Brienne, but there’s something I must do. Protect Bran. Please.” Sansa hurries out of the room before she can stop her. Arya might have stopped her if she knew what she was about to do. But Arya had left with_ _Jon’s forces under the cover of one of her faces. Sansa doesn’t turn back, she knows that Brienne will not leave her post._

_She runs in the hallways. There is no time for walking. The halls are quiet since the war’s refugees are housed far from the Stark family quarters. The sounds of battle are yet to arrive. But they will. Soon._

_She stops at a door and barges in without knocking. Melisandre is inside, watching the outside from the window._

_“How do I know that you told me the truth? The battle will soon be on Winterfell soil. Tell me, show me something. Anything.”_

_“Have you tried looking into the fire?”_

_Sansa scoffs but there’s an undertone of desperation, “I look at a fire everyday. Is that all the proof you have to offer?”_

_The Red Woman walks over to the lit brazier. The fire makes her face appear as red as her hair. “Try again. You will see the truth: You must die by Jon Snow’s hands.”_

_Sansa stares into the flames, long enough that her brow becomes wet from sweat. “I see nothing. Absolutely nothing. Just darkness in the flames.”_

_“That is proof. Or if that is not enough, have you forgotten that I was right about the ambush and the fight that I can hear approaching?”_

_Melissandre is right. The yells and screams of men are faint, but there._

_“I’m afraid to die. Even more so if it is a meaningless death that you are urging me towards.”_

_“The night is dark and full of terrors. But the night will be everlasting if not for you, Sansa Stark.”_

_Sansa continues to look into the flames. She sets her shoulders and turns to the priestess. “I will go. From Jon’s raven, I know that our forces are decimated. This will truly be the last stand...and I would rather die having tried something than turn uselessly into a wight.”_

 

 

Sansa asks quietly, “Were the odds so dire for me—for her to consider going through with that witch’s plan?”

Jon feels guilt turn the air into mud. “They were. Even so, I–I shouldn’t have sent that raven. I told her the truth so she would make preparations to evacuate Winterfell. I should have known the snowfall would make that impossible. And that she would never leave our home.”

Sansa clasps his hand in both of hers, “I might not be her but,” her words drive a dagger through Jon. “I can tell she was brave a-and that she loved you. Don’t feel guilty, her mind was set and something tells me you couldn’t have changed it.”

Her words do little to assuage his guilt-ridden mind.

 

  

_“But how will Jon know to find me underneath the heart tree? If he’s,” Sansa takes in a composing breath. “If he’s still even alive.”_

_“Do not worry. The Night King will be drawn to the heart tree as a moth to a flame. It is a heart tree where he was born and it is a heart tree where he will die. And where the Night King goes Jon Snow will follow.”_

_“Now hurry, if you wait any longer you won’t be able to make it to the godswood without going through battle-ridden ground.”_

_Sansa nods to herself. She doesn’t say goodbye to the Red Woman for she is no friend._

_Melisandre calls out as Sansa goes through the door. “Fire brought you the call of death. It could also bring you life. A last kiss.”_

_Sansa is too far away to hear the priestess’ farewell._

 

 

The vision seems to move faster, skimming over her trek to the godswood. Members of the small garrison left to defend Winterfell run to their positions, their dragonglass edged swords and daggers clashing against their armour. Sansa pays them no heed. She sticks to the shadows and slips out of Winterfell among the chaos, her cloak’s hood hides her beautiful red hair. 

The vision stops moving forward when Sansa arrives at the heart tree. The snow  here is not so tall, the forest’s thick and many treetops holding a lot of the snowfall. The screams of dying men echo from far away and dragonsong comes from high above. Sansa waits by the heart tree, where they once consummated their marriage vows under moonlight.

“Is this where...?”

Jon struggles to speak past the knot in his throat, “Aye, here is where I killed you. Killed her.”

 

 

_Sansa wrings her hands. The sun is low in the sky. Soon it will be dark. The wind toussels her hair and it looks like a banner of red blowing in the wind.  She whips her head towards Ghost who has broken through the trees. His fur is matted in blood and mud. As soon as his eyes spot her he runs back from whence he came from._

 

Jon remembers this. He had just killed one of the white walkers (consequently also killing the wights under its command) outside of the godswood when he felt Ghost’s mind call out to his. He warged for just a second. And in that second he saw Sansa standing by the heart tree.

Jon knows past-Jon will soon appear. But he also knows what his memory-self does not: the Night King is not far behind.

 

 

 

_It takes a couple of minutes before Jon breaks into the clearing. Ghost is nowhere in sight. Jon’s eyes are stark white against the dirtiness that mars his face. They widen with resigned fear when he sees her._

_“Sansa! What are you doing here? Are you out of your mind?” He runs to her, his gait a bit twisted. There’s a gash to his left calf._

_Sansa crashes into him, her hands are chapped red from the winter wind. Her hand seeks out his swordhand. She covers it with her own, a touch Jon thinks little of. “I have to be here. For you, Jon.”_

_The wind that had been so generous before suddenly stops. It’s the Night King. He will be there. Soon._

_Jon pushes her back but Sansa doesn’t let his hand go. “Sansa, you have to go. The Night King. He has been making his way towards here. I don’t know why but you have to go. Now, Sansa!”_

_Jon presses a desperate kiss to her lips and again tries to push her away, “Run, Sansa. RUN.”_

_Sansa takes advantage of his panic and grips the hand that holds his sword with both of her hands._

_She uses all her strength to try and lift Longclaw but it’s too heavy for her._

_“What are you doing? You have to leave. Now!”_

_Sansa’s tears freeze on her cheeks, “Kill me Jon. Drive your sword through my heart—”_

_“What? Why would I kill you, my love? No, leave. I’ll try and stop the Night King for as long as I can.” A terrible noise is heard. The sound of breaking ice echoes through the woods and increases in volume. “He’s almost here! Leave. Please, Sansa.”_

_“You have to, Jon. If you don’t there’s no hope of killing the Night King—“_

_“What are you talking about?”_

_“Br-Bran saw a vision, it’s the only way. A...a human heart’s blood is the only weakness he has, since his own heart was corrupted by–by by ice. With, without it your sword will be useless.” She takes his hand once more. “Besides, you know it’s too late. I won’t make it far before he kills me.”_

_Jon shakes his head in denial and his chest shudders as he tries to keep himself from crying._

 

 

“This is when you lied to me. It was Melisandre, not Bran. You told me Bran had seen it in a vision, you made it all up,” Jon feels his heart constrict at what he knows will soon follow. “It must have been the only way you could think of convincing me. You knew I would never trust the Red Witch and her visions. And after the war I couldn’t ask Bran about any of this.”

Jon feels his love’s hand shake in his own. She must know what follows, as well.

“I’m sorry, Jon.”

 

 

_The infernal sound seems to surround them now. Sansa has to yell to be heard._

_“If I have to die I would rather die by your hand than his. If you love me, do it. Please, Jon.”_

_“I can’t. Don’t ask this of me, I beg you.”_

_In that moment the Night King comes into the clearing. His pace is measured and slow. He is sure of himself and his victory. His patience is mocking._

_“You have my heart.”_

_Jon shakes uncontrollably. A choice must be made._

_Sansa’s hands remain on top of his as she guides Longclaw into her chest. A red flower blooms around the glint of metal._

_“Until we meet again, my love.” Her last words are almost lost in Jon’s screams and howls of heartbreak._

 

Sansa cries out and tears her hand out of his. She clutches her head and bends over in pain, the heels of her hand digging themselves into her temples. 

“I’m sorry,” Jon can’t bear it anymore. He gathers Sansa in his arms as he has wanted to do since she reappeared in the godswood. She tosses her head from side to side as if to rid herself of her hurt. He says it over and over, “I’m so sorry, my love. So sorry. So sorry.”

As if in a daze she lets her head rest against his shoulder. Through clenched teeth, she catches Jon’s attention, “Jon. Jon, look.”

Her hand touches his cheek and makes him turn towards the vision once more.

 

 

_Jon pulls Longclaw out of Sansa and drops it to catch Sansa’s body before it falls. As he lays her against the trunk of the heart tree, Longclaw lays forgotten on the ground. It burns in a flash of light. The heat from the sword melts the snow underneath it._

_There are no bright flames coming out from the sword, no. Nothing as ostentatious as that. But a fire-like glow seems to exude from it. A reddish hue also stains the valaryian steel._

 

 

Sansa’s hand leaves his cheek to rest against against his chest, above his racing heart. She hasn’t broken their embrace. Her eyes are red-rimmed from unspilled tears. Her headache seems to have gone. “Did you see that?! Your sword, Longclaw, it–that _must_ have been the blessing. Your sword was reforged as Lightbringer!”

“I didn’t, after I killed you...” Jon spreads his fingers against her back to remind himself that she is not in the memory. She is back and alive. “I don’t remember much after that. There are glimpses of my fight against the Night King—but that is all. And when I pulled Longclaw out of the Night King’s chest I thought the red stain was a result of his death. There was no light coming from Longclaw, either.”

“Maybe the blessing left the sword after you killed him,” she says. “All I know is that this means that if you hadn’t listened to me–I mean, _her_ , you and everyone else would have died. She did it to save you, Jon. To save the living. Don’t punish yourself anymore. If you hadn’t killed her the Night King would have _won_.”

 

 

_The Night King stops, he is halfway across the clearing, his eyes flit to the sword in the first sign of fear that has ever crossed his face. Jon places a tearful kiss to Sansa’s forehead, straightens, and picks up Longclaw from the blood-speckled ground._

_Jon’s face is blank. There is nothing human left. When Jon turns away from Sansa, his eyes burn red and train themselves on the Night King._

_Longclaw steams with a hiss as snowflakes fall upon the sharp blade. The sword’s glow casts shadows across the planes of Jon’s face when he points it at the Night King._

_“You will die and it will be by my hand.” His promise is a morbid reflection of Sansa’s own words. Jon’s voice is hollow as it calls for death. For revenge. Drops of Sansa’s blood fall from his sword like embers to the ground._

_In the darkening godswood the two charge towards each other. One wielding a sword of ice, the other a sword of fire._

 

 

The visions skips the duel. Jon is grateful. He can’t remember most, if any of it, and he wants to keep it that way. 

He has too many painful memories already crowding his mind.

 

 

_Longclaw pins The Night King’s corpse to the other side of the heart tree’s trunk. His body is decomposing rapidly and the tree itself seems to slowly cover it with roots and bark. Longclaw’s red blade reflects the moonlight that cuts through the tree‘s canopy._

_On the other side of the tree, Jon is cradling Sansa in his arms. He makes no attempt to hide his tears. He lets them fall freely. The eerie silence is broken by Melisandre. She is holding a torch, its fire dances in the dark._

_When Jon sees her, his eyes finally flicker with something akin to life._

_“Kill me,” Jon rasps out. “Kill me, please.”_

 

 

Sansa gasps, “Why, Jon?”

“Sansa,” he kisses the top of her head. “Must you really ask why?”

 

 

_“When I heard death, and saw the Ice Dragon fall from the sky, I knew you had succeeded, my king.”_

_“You call me king, then do as I command. Kill me.”_

_Melisandre hitches her skirts to walk through the snow, and goes over to the heart tree._

_“It is because I call you king that I will do what is best for you, your grace. You must live. And you may see her,” she tilts her head at Sansa’s body. “Once more. I have seen it in the fire. She will return to you.”_

_“How? Her body is no longer warm, her fingers are stiff with death. And I would never punish her by letting you do to her what you did to me. She doesn’t deserve to know that darkness.”_

 

 

“I would never submit you to live as I do, Sansa. When I returned from death,” he swallows. “I felt as if a coldness had embedded itself within me. And only you helped melt the frost, my love.”

“And it was Melisandre who brought you back from...from death? Is that what she did to me? To her?”

Jon shakes his head, “No, I don’t believe so. She took you away to where I could never reach you. Some place beyond death.”

 

 

_“No, that is not what the Lord of Light has planned for your...sister,” her voice is coy, and seductive with hope. “He has shown me her future. Her life does not end here. The end has not been written for this life.”_

_The Red Woman kneels and her skirts grow dark with the wet snow. Jon drags Sansa’s body closer to him and away from her. The torch casts light on the flower of blood that stems from Sansa’s chest._

_Melisandre stops and with a subdued and plaintive voice asks Jon, “May I give her a last kiss? A mere goodbye to the Lady of Winterfell.”_

_Jon says nothing but doesn’t stop her. But instead of kissing her cheek or forehead she presses her lips to Sansa’s. The crease where their lips meet turns a bright red._

_“Get away from her, don’t touch her again!” Jon runs his thumb over Sansa’s lips as if to clean them of the Red Woman._

_Melisandre leans back, her eyes search Sansa’s face for...something. But Sansa’s face looks the same, and her eyes remain closed._

_“I don’t understand. It should have brought her back from—”_

_Jon snarls, “What did you do, priestess? Did you go against my wishes?”_

_“I–I,” her face loses the little color it carries, and she moves away from him. She watches as Jon lays Sansa against the tree once more. “The Lord of Light commanded me—”_

_He doesn’t let her finish. He stalks towards the cowering woman and pulls her to her feet, “What. Did. You. Do.”_

_She drops the torch. The fire_ _fights for life but is quick to die in the snow and everything is cast in silver once more. She scratches at his hands and opens her red mouth to answer when a burst of white light floods out the darkness of the godswood._

 

The light from the vision blinds him as easily as it did in the memory. Jon feels Sansa’s body sag against his. With closed eyes, he struggles to keep a grip on her. 

He blinks away the spots that block his sight. He can’t see clearly but he can tell that Sansa is unconscious once more. 

“Sweet girl, ever since you returned it seems I can never keep you awake for long,” he readjusts his hold on her. His strength seems to have been taken away by the light.

He presses his nose against her neck. “What keeps you away from me? Is it the darkness, my love?” he asks her tenderly. He cries like he did when he plunged his sword through her heart. “I’m sorry, I can never say those words enough. I’m–I’m sorry.”

The vision continues but Jon knows what happens after. He could never forget.

 

 

_Jon had dropped Melisandre to cover his eyes from the light. When he opens them Sansa is gone. Near blind, he stumbles to the heart tree._

“ _No,” he falls and his knees crack against the cold ground. His bloodied hands dig away at the snow, at the dead grass, at the earth. “Nononono.”_

_“My king,” the red priestess slowly stands. She points a finger to something in the dark, at the base of the heart tree._

_“Not a word from you,” his face becomes something dark and feral in the night. He pulls at his hair, and twists towards her voice, “You and your demon god have done this. Bring her body back. Bring her back now!”_

_Cautiously, as if he were a wild animal, she circles around him and picks up a thick rectangle from the snow._

_Jon snatches it from her hands. He can barely make out a drawing on the cover of the book. It’s a heart tree with a beautiful woman sleeping under its canopy of leaves and branches._

_“Sansa,” the lines of the drawing are barely discernible in the little silver light there is. The book holds only empty pages inside. “It’s her.”_

_Jon is lost and confused. He looks up to Melisandre, all fight gone from his eyes. “Where is she? Where has she gone?” he asks her._

_She closes her eyes, “She is here, I can feel her presence in the book,” she opens them and quietly promises, “She will return. But you must live. If you want to be here when she returns, you must live.”_

 

* * *

 

They are thrust back in to the spare solar. The realm of smoke and visions is gone and Sansa’s still unconscious form is in his arms. Jon curses and looks around for the thrice-damned priestess but she is no where to be seen. The brazier holds only ashes as if she took the fire away with her.

“When I find her I’ll bring her to justice for all her crimes. But for now,” he picks Sansa up, his right arm under her knees, his left across her back. She mumbles something underneath her breath and settles her head against his chest. “I’ll take you to rest.”

The walk to the Lord’s chambers is short and uninterrupted. He orders the guard stationed at the end of the corridor to follow him. The guard opens the door for him. Jon tells him to order a search for the red witch. The guard nods then leaves after closing the door. The room is warm from the fire that has been burning since the beginning of the day. Leda must have fed it until now, and it’s nearing twilight.

Jon sets Sansa down gently on the bed. He takes off her shoes and carefully turns her to her side to slightly unlace her dress. He remembers how uncomfortable she felt whenever she slept laced into her clothes. When he’s done he kneels next to her on the bed and just _looks_ at her. She can’t hear but he has to let the words out before they drown him.

“A year. I tried living without you for a year.”

Her hair is free and falls against the covers of the bed.

“It was worse than the nothingness I saw after I died.” His eyes fall on the shadow her nose casts against her cheek. The fire illuminates the right side of her body but casts the left in shadow.

His knuckle softly follows the curve of her cheekbone. “You kept the shadow of the dark at bay with your light, my love. After I came back from death, I thought its shadow would follow me forever—until you came along,” he presses a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth.

“And I don’t know if the Red Woman lied when she said you won’t be followed by that shadow,” he cries once more. Jon thinks he should be drained at this point but the tears flow like rivers from his eyes. It feels almost cleansing. “But like the selfish bastard I am, I can’t keep myself from being happy that you’re back.”

Jon leans away from her face. He looks like a man at prayer kneeling upon the bed, Sansa’s sleeping body next to him. He covers his face with his hands and lets sobs wrack through him. “You saved the world, you saved me, and I never got to thank you. Or say I love you one last time. And now you’re here,” he shuts his eyes even harder, to block out the pain and guilt. “And you say you’re not mine, not my Sansa.” He speaks the words that hurt the most. “And you look me in the eyes and say you don’t–you don’t even  _remember_ me.”

Jon wants to wail out in anger, in grief, in frustration. 

But he doesn’t. He just weeps.

_Oh, Sansa, you were right. Perhaps we were cursed by the gods._

A soft touch to his hands brings his dark thoughts to a sudden stop. It pulls his hands away from his face and brushes away his tears. 

 _Don’t touch me like you remember,_ Jon begs in his mind, even as he doesn’t want her to stop.  _It will only serve to tear me apart when you look at me as if I were only a stranger._

Jon feels the bed shift and Sansa's knees touch his. She kneels in front of him and Jon finally opens his eyes.

Her face is much closer to his than he expected. Only a hands-width away. Her eyes, those orbs of blue he gladly drowns in, blink once. 

Jon doesn’t dare move. He is afraid to scare her away when she is so close that his skin can feel her warmth. His cloak is stifling him but he bears the heat. His hands grasp the fabric of his breeches to keep themselves from touching her.

Sansa blinks a second time.

She parts her lips, “Jon.”

He waits for her to leave him adrift once more.

She takes his face in her hands. Jon’s eyes drift to a close. He will enjoy this dream for however short it lasts.

She kisses his left eyelid, “My king.”

“My husband,” her lips move to his right.

He feels her mouth against his forehead, “My love.”

_I am dreaming. And if the gods are just, I will never wake up._

He feels her words against his lips, “My heart,” she sobs. “ _My Jon_.”

She kisses him and Jon feels like a man reborn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to post this chapter yesterday but I had to go vote after classes :) 
> 
> Anyways, I’ve started the final chapter but I’m not sure when it will be finished and ready to post. Thanks for all of the input on the inclusion of a Jon POV, I’m glad I put it in!!
> 
> Thanks for reading!!


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